


Heat

by CrypticNymph



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Pre-Het, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrypticNymph/pseuds/CrypticNymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time was when Freddie's father died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> There's a shameful lack of fanfiction for this show. My hope is that once series two airs, far more people will enjoy The Hour and start to write/draw things for it. This is just something short I wrote because I'm procrastinating and I'm bad at writing one story at a time. It's sort of pre-het, apart from when it isn't. Anyway, I hope you like it!

The first time was when Freddie’s father died. 

London was in the throes of a stifling summer, the air overstuffed with heat and hanging thickly in the twilight. Bel was lying atop her bed covers, too warm to sleep. It was difficult to concentrate in the hot haze of early morning, so unformed thoughts clung to her skin with her sweat, spilling out of her crowded brain. It was a strange state of mind; on that edge between sleeping and waking, she swore she could feel cracks forming in the world, cracks that sucked in seconds and spilled out dreams. 

She was just managing to slip into sleep when she heard the shrill, elongated chime of her doorbell. Bleary eyed, Bel sat up. Grabbing her robe, she pulled it around herself and headed into her living room. The bell continued, harsh in the silence of the flat.

“I’m coming!” she yelled, but the shadowy figure behind the door kept pressing the doorbell roughly. “Who calls at this time of night?” she muttered darkly, forcing the door open.  


Freddie was looking down at the floor, still prodding the bell despite her appearance. “Freddie?” Bel said slowly, surprised at his arrival. He said nothing, did not even look at her, but lowered his hand. “Freddie, it’s two in the morning.”

He finally turned his head, and Bel saw his tired eyes, looking almost sunken. His skin had an anemic, waxy quality to it from his obvious fatigue. “He’s gone.”

It was then that Bel smelled the alcohol on his breath. Shock overwhelmed her- Mr Lyon was an elderly man, yes, but not unwell. She opened her mouth, unsure what she was about to say. “Come inside, Freddie.” He looked almost reluctant at first, like a frightened child, before assenting with a small nod. 

She guided Freddie inside and shut the door, leaving them in the dark. Flicking on the lights, she turned back to her friend. Usually such a large personality to handle, Freddie had never looked so small. Swamped inside that second hand trench coat, he was suddenly vulnerable. 

“Bel,” his voice cracked, as his eyes filled with tears, “I don’t want to go home.”

She crossed the gap between them and folded her arms around his slim frame. He did not respond, just let himself be touched, too stunned to move. Just a little taller than Bel, Freddie’s mouth was level with her ear as she half hugged him, half cradled him. 

“I don’t want to go home,” he repeated, more to himself than to her.

“Then stay,” she murmured back, “I’ll sleep on the sofa, have my bed.”

“No.” For the first time, Bel heard him slur his words. “Wouldn’t sleep anyway.”

She relinquished him, once she felt he’d calmed down a little. “Why on earth are you wearing that coat in this weather, Freddie?” she asked quietly, hoping to normalise the situation a little. 

Freddie seemed to have barely noticed its presence until she mentioned it, looking down at himself blankly. “I just… grabbed one. I wanted to get out.”

She tugged at the edges of the trench coat, as if asking for permission. He complied, allowing her to lift the heavy material from his shoulders. He’d left his shirt behind, wearing just his white undershirt in the summer heat. Folding it carefully, Bel hung the coat over her sofa. She tapped the seat twice in succession. “Sit.”

Freddie did so, slowly. Falling back onto the sofa, he closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. Bel sat beside him. “Freddie, how much have you had to drink?”

His laugh was coarse. “Does that matter?”

She thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not.” It struck her briefly that he had so often played the role of comforter for her, in situations far less serious. So petty and inconsequential… He never burdened her in that way. She cast the thoughts from her mind. “I think we could both do with a little more, though.”

Bel rose and entered her kitchen, pulling a bottle of whiskey from one of her cupboards. Grabbing two cool glasses, she watched Freddie’s face as she approached. There was none of the spark, none of the lustre that made Freddie who he was present in his empty expression. She poured the whiskey slowly, trying to catch his eye and failing.

Freddie grabbed his drink quickly and knocked it back, in what she assumed was an attempt to drink himself to sleep. She knew from past experience that this never worked. “Should we drink to him?” she asked, pouring him another.

This time Freddie waited, lifting his glass into the air. “Dad,” he said weakly, hands trembling a little. Bel mirrored him before they both drank, and she relished the coolness of the liquid in this stagnant heat. They sat in silence for a little while, savouring the taste, thinking and remembering and immortalising the late Mr Lyon.

“His things,” Freddie said eventually. “All that stuff. There’s just so much left there. I’ll have to move it all out soon. Box it up and bin it like it never mattered to anyone. But it did. It did to him.”

She raised a hand to touch Freddie’s face. “I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can manage. I-” she saw the tears in his eyes now, shining in the half light, “I know I’m being stupid…”

“Ssh…” she soothed. “You’re not, you’re not.”

“But I am,” he insisted, no longer attempting to hide his grief. “I know they’re just things- It’s just- I never realised how much stuff makes up a person. Little bits and pieces that I don’t ever want to be rid of.”

She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe, and attempted to dab at Freddie’s face. He pulled away from her and stood up, wiping his eyes with his hand. “Freddie…”

“I hated it all!” he cried, an edge of frustration in his voice. “I hated all the crap he kept, but without it the flat feels so empty, so- so desolate.” He looked back Bel. “What am I going to do without him to look after?”

She saw the redness of his eyes and wished she knew how to help, wished she could make it all better. This had always been his area… She stood. “Your dad didn’t like waste, did he?”

Freddie shook his head. “He used everything. That’s why there was so much, he thought- he thought there could be a time where he’d need it.”

Bel walked towards him slowly, trying to think of a way to be firm but consoling at the same time. “He doesn’t need those things any more. Someone might, but not him. You shouldn’t keep them, Freddie, he wouldn’t want to see them locked up in a room somewhere. He wanted them to be used.”

Freddie looked her straight in the eye, not saying a word, just gazing intently. She stared back. “I need to know that you know that. Your father wouldn’t want you to be unhappy, he’d want you to go on with your life. Do you see that?”

He paused, before nodding slowly. Bel pulled him into a tight hug. “And you know I’m here for you, always, right? Even when it’s two in the morning, and boiling hot, and I’ve got a show to run in the morning?”

She felt him clutch at her back desperately. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s good then.”

There was a long, long delay before Freddie spoke. “Dad told me- before he died, I mean- he told me to marry you.”

Bel stiffened in Freddie’s arms. This wasn’t right. Whatever they had, whatever they’d been teetering on the edge of for so long- now was not the time for it to start. Bel, fresh out of an affair with a married man, and Freddie having just lost his father- it wasn’t right. It could never be right this way. They weren’t ready for this conversation just yet.

The heat felt so much more present all of a sudden, rushing back to her in a fresh wave. She exhaled shakily, and the walls seemed to bend as she breathed, such was the magnitude of the moment. Even the silence seemed to split apart, so much so that she swore she could hear all its corners and joins and rough edges. 

“I’ll clear out his things tomorrow,” Freddie said blankly after a while, releasing Bel abruptly. She stood frozen in her previous position, trying to process what had just happened, whilst Freddie became keenly interested in the floor. 

“I want to help you. If I can,” Bel said eventually. She knew her earlier words had not been enough, nowhere near, and never would be. She could not heal the hurt in her friend’s heart by remaining as they were, but risked causing him more pain by giving in. She was stuck in limbo. “If you let me try.”

Freddie appeared to think for a while, before finally looking back up shyly. “Could-” he began quietly, “could you stay?” The question was vulnerable, so small and yet so massive. “Stay with me?”

Bel allowed herself a few seconds of consideration. This wasn’t just about tonight, it never could be. As much as that thought scared her, she realised there was only one answer she could possible give. “Of course.”

She stretched out her hand, which Freddie clasped tightly, and led him into her bedroom. This time felt different to the innumerable occasions before. This was… intimate. It wasn’t about sex. Sex was positively clear cut next to this. Sex was simple compared to what they had. They were treading the fine line between friendship and something more, and boy was this grey area complicated. 

Bel pulled off her robe, now wearing only her thin nightgown. Freddie was resolutely avoiding looking at anywhere below her neck, which she couldn’t help but find endearing. She sat down on her bed, swinging her legs up and pulling Freddie down beside her. He took off his shoes slowly, with his back to Bel, and brought his legs up next to hers. Together, they reclined. 

There was little room on Bel’s small bed, but there was just enough for two. Freddie did not seem to want to touch her, not just yet, which she was glad of. This was confusing enough. 

After a few moments, Freddie whispered “Goodnight, Bel.”

“Goodnight, Freddie,” she whispered back, and suddenly the heat didn’t feel like so much of a problem, not compared with what she’d have to deal with when she woke up.


End file.
